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"Don't you mind her, mates, bring a whip each of you, get ready!"

"All right! Give it to her!"

They all clambered into Mikolka's cart, laughing and making

jokes. Six men got in and there was still room for more. They

hauled in a fat, rosy-cheeked woman. She was dressed in red

cotton, in a pointed, beaded headdress and thick leather shoes;

she was cracking nuts and laughing. The crowd round them was

laughing too and indeed, how could they help laughing? That

wretched nag was to drag all the cartload of them at a gallop!

Two young fellows in the cart were just getting whips ready to

help Mikolka. With the cry of "now," the mare tugged with all her

might, but far from galloping, could scarcely move forward; she

struggled with her legs, gasping and shrinking from the blows of

the three whips which were showered upon her like hail. The

laughter in the cart and in the crowd was redoubled, but Mikolka

flew into a rage and furiously thrashed the mare, as though he

supposed she really could gallop.